Page 3 of No Rhyme or Roughing
And I hadn’t felt this at home anywhere else. That roommate who thought it would be funny to let my afternoon nap last through every alarm? He was my best friend, Teddy. Had been since we were just kids, lacing up our skates for the first time an hour south of the city.
“Finally.” The cars in front of me moved, and I veered off the bridge onto The Embarcadero. Checking the clock, I realized I was already half an hour late to Coach’s inevitably droll speech before the pregame skate.
Still, as I neared the arena, a smile curved my lips. I got to play hockey tonight. That kid in used skates with dull blades was still inside me, and after all this time, he couldn’t believe this was his life.
Even if it was a minor league team, even if it was one that couldn’t string two wins together, let alone a proper streak, it was the game. My game. My world.
I didn’t see it.
The car that turned right as I turned left from across the road.
I slammed on the brakes, but there wasn’t enoughtime. The crunch of metal rang out, followed by a screech of tires.
And then, nothing. No movement. The surrounding sounds rushed back, a blaring horn.
Shit. Coach was really going to be pissed.
Just what I needed.
Reaching into the glove box, I grabbed the sticky notes I kept in there. Dad would have been proud. He’d called it “preparedness.” I called it clutter.
Yanking out my insurance card, I copied my information onto a note and tore it free before stepping out of the car.
She was already outside, examining the damage, a crease between her eyes. Her hands were planted on her hips as she bent forward with a curse.
“Idiot,” she muttered. “Just what I needed.”
My gaze drifted down despite myself, taking in the heels, the long, thick legs clad in skin-tight black pants, and curves that could give a guy the best dreams.
Blinking, I cleared my throat.
She straightened, as if just now realizing she wasn’t alone. A few other cars had stopped, but their occupants were still inside. The woman pushed blond bangs out of her eyes and turned, her crystalline gaze assessing.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice low and smooth. “Do you need my insurance information? This was my fault, wasn’t it?”
Not what I expected from those red lips. Especially when I was the one to hit her.
“Now, I know why traffic slows near a crash.”
She lifted one brow. But I was committed.
“They can’t take their eyes off you.” Flashing her asmile, I momentarily forgot that I was late, and that Coach was going to bench me for this.
She stared at me in confusion, one eyebrow arched. “I’m sorry, what?”
Something about the honest way she watched me, like she could see right through my bravado, had me flustered. I reached over with my information. “Here. I’m really sorry about the accident. My insurance can take care of it.” I just prayed it wouldn’t jack up my premiums any more than I could already barely afford.
She looked down at the note and then up at me. Then back at the note, her eyes widening in recognition.
“Ryder Cassidy?”
“Speaking.” I leaned against my truck's side. The damage wasn’t bad, so I could still get to the arena if she let me go. “Heard of me, have you?”
She reached into her purse and produced a card. “I’m Sydney.”
I took it but barely glanced at it, keeping my eyes firmly on hers.
“Well, I have somewhere to be.”
